


and here I am in my good bra and everything

by PumpkinDoodles



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Barbara Gordon is Darcy's new life plan, Disabled!Darcy Lewis, F/M, Jane is going to be very upset about this, TripleAgent!Rumlow, foggy is concerned, meet ugly prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:55:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26620075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Darcy doesn't expect Nick Fury to show up at this coffee shop--and ask her to investigate a STRIKE Commander's fiancée.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 171
Kudos: 578





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *I own nothing! I was talking about how much I wanted to do a fic where Darcy is disabled and then I saw this prompt and couldn't get the idea of Darcy being the investigator out of my head. So I smooshed them together and loaded this one down with fun future cyborg stuff, too, if decide to add to it:
> 
> 87\. you’re a P.I. my parents hired to investigate my fiancee and you completely ruined my engagement party with the dirt you found but I want to know all the details right now  
> https://veronicabunchwrites.tumblr.com/post/180758255134/100-meet-ugly-writing-prompts-for-your-ugly

* * *

Darcy was working on her laptop at a coffee shop in DC when someone pulled the chair out across the tiny table. She looked up into Nick Fury’s face. “Fancy meeting you here,” she said. “But if you’re looking for Jane--”

“I’m not looking for Foster,” Fury said. 

“No?” she said, tilting her head. This was a surprise. 

“I hear you’re at loose ends with Foster and Thor in space,” he said, steepling his fingers.

“I’ve got prospects,” Darcy said, keeping her voice casual. This was a lie. With Jane gone, she’d moved in with her college buddy Foggy Nelson when he’d joined a legal advocacy organization in DC and was working a few online jobs. Taking some online classes. She missed Jane; Jane had wanted her to go into space. They’d even prepped the Milano for her walker and wheelchair. But Darcy got space sickness. It was a whole thing. 

“Uh-huh,” Fury said. “But you could use my health insurance for your surgery and Romanoff will help you with anything”--Fury glanced at her wheelchair--”that is less accessible.”

“Okay,” Darcy said slowly. She was supposed to have a medicine pump put in her abdomen in a few weeks; it would lessen her symptoms from injuries she'd gotten in London during the Convergence. “I’m intrigued. What’s the job?”

“I need you to investigate the fiancée of one of my agents,” Fury said. “Mostly electronically.”

“W-what?” Darcy said. Fury was already sliding a file folder across the table. She flipped it open. A dark-haired guy looked back at her. In the top photograph, he was arresting Captain America. “Oh, he did it,” Darcy said. “Totally punchable face.”

“Very funny, Lewis,” Fury said. “He’s the agent. Rumlow’s fiancée is named Cynthia Smith.”

“What do you have on her?” Darcy asked, frowning.

“A bad feeling,” Fury said. “You’ll take the job?” Darcy nodded. Then he swept out of the coffee shop dramatically. Darcy shook her head and studied the file. The agent ran a STRIKE team, had been undercover in HYDRA, and ought to be able to sniff out a sketchy girlfriend on his own, she thought. What was interesting was the missing section--a gap in his file of several years after the HYDRA Uprising--before he took over his old unit. There was a note about redacted materials. “Where were you?” Darcy murmured.

“You want another pumpkin spice?” one of the baristas asked, coming over to Darcy’s table. Darcy was a regular here. They always offered to refill things for her.

“I’d love one,” Darcy said. “Thanks.”

“No problem!” she said.

* * *

“Explain this to me again?” Foggy said. “Fury wants _you_ to investigate someone? Someone a building full of SHIELD agents can’t?”

“There’s no reason to say _you_ in that voice,” Darcy said, slightly annoyed. “It’s online work, he says. And Natasha Romanoff will help me with anything physically demanding--she already texted.” Her adorable, floppy-haired roommate sighed.

“Darce, I know you miss Jane, but that’s no reason to decide Barbara Gordon is your new life plan,” Foggy said.

“I’m telling Matt you said that,” Darcy said, crossing her arms. Matt, Foggy’s former law partner, was legally blind--and a masked vigilante called Daredevil. “Besides, it’s completely different--”

“Didn’t you tell me that you might take a library science class online?” Foggy said, raising his eyebrows significantly. _Whoops,_ she thought. _Busted._

“Okay, so I like libraries, too---but I wasn’t shot by the Joker,” Darcy grumbled. “I’m not paralyzed!”

“No, but a pasty elf threw a car at you,” Foggy said. She had been injured in 2013, during Thor's battle with the Dark Elves: her initial injuries were bone fractures, but she’d had a stroke in a London hospital afterwards. She had a condition called hypertonia now--her legs muscles were resistant and tight, like she was walking through sand all the time--because of the brain damage caused by the stroke. She could still walk, if unsteadily, but she fell down a lot and got tired easily. She used a walker or her wheelchair, depending on the day or her activities. The upcoming pump surgery was supposed to help alleviate some of her muscle tightness. It was another reason she’d stayed behind. “Darce,” he said softly. Foggy sat down on the couch next to her, looking serious. “I promised Jane I’d watch out for you,” he said. “This feels like a terrible idea.”

“I’m totally telling Matt about this,” Darcy swore. She didn’t want to confess to Foggy that she missed excitement. And she still liked snooping around. What could it hurt? She started researching and snitched on Foggy with a burner phone voicemail to Matt. She needed something to do to keep her from being anxious about the surgery, anyway. She'd made the mistake of reading the manual for her future pump. The stuff about complications stressed her out. Also, she'd have to stay away from magnets and saunas, once the hockey puck sized machine was implanted.

Matt arrived a day later--while Natasha and she were talking about first steps, Rumlow’s background as a triple agent, and the things Natasha thought were odd about Rumlow’s intended wife. “Tell her this is bad,” Foggy said.

“Foggy,” Matt said gently, “you can’t treat Darcy like a child.”

“See?” Darcy said. “Or--you know what I meant. Sorry, Matt.”

“I gotcha,” Matt said. 

“I’m not--that’s not what this is,” Foggy said. “I am rightly concerned about Darcy’s well-being and you are one to talk--I found you on that rooftop!”

“So the rumors are true?” Natasha said. Darcy thought she looked interested in Matt. “How do you do it?” she asked. She meant all the fighting and villain-defeating he’d gotten up to in New York. Matt was sort of famous now. 

“Uhh,” Matt said, turning a little pink. “Very heightened concentration.”

“Really?” she said.

“I’m, uh, very focused. When I need to be,” Matt said. He grinned. Almost slyly. Darcy looked at Foggy.

“Did he just do naughty altar boy face?” she whispered. Matt’s grin grew a fraction wider.

“I cannot believe you are flirting right now,” Foggy muttered. “Am I the only sane person in the entire world?” He looked at Darcy. "Isn't the prospect of being a cyborg exciting enough?" he asked. She'd been delighted when someone told that she would technically be one after the surgery. Darcy wanted a t-shirt.

“But I'm not one yet! Just let me have a little fun?” Darcy pleaded, as Natasha and Matt continued to talk--and flirt with each other. “Listen to Matt and Nat!”

“They are bad influences,” Foggy said grimly. “What would your librarian friends say?”

“To use the good databases?” Darcy said, trying to sound innocent. “And not to reshelve yourself.”

* * *

Darcy quickly discovered that there was something _weird_ about Cynthia Smith. She existed in all the right places and she had great hair, but when Darcy dug around, she realized the woman’s digital footprints were only a few years old. Wildly curious, she decided to follow the woman and Commander Rumlow around a DC shopping center. Darcy felt pretty safe. She had instructions from Natasha. Also, she’d brought her walker. His name was Wally. The basket was useful for holding lattes and seasonal twinkle lights--and she was both conspicuous and totally innocent-seeming. People opened doors for her, smiled at her pumpkin-themed string of lights, and asked her if she needed any help. No one suspected her of being a spy. She had Natasha on the phone as she followed them through CityCenter. “They look pretty cozy,” she said, adjusting her earbud. 

“Does he look suspicious?” Nat asked. 

“Nope, he held the door open for me at Tiffany’s. They’re still looking at rings,” Darcy explained in a whisper. “Apparently, she has a family heirloom diamond from Austria. It’s yellow. And huge.”

“She’s from Cleveland,” Nat said. Her frown was practically audible.

“I know. Weird, right? I got pictures of the diamond,” Darcy said, sending them to her. “Are you going out with Matt?”

“Maybe,” Nat said. “I’ll have a diamond guy look at those.”

“You totally are,” Darcy said, smiling back at a kid who grinned at her walker. “God, why can’t they stop for gelato? She keeps looking at four-hundred dollar shoes. How is he affording all this?” At least, she’d been able to sit down in all the shoe places. But she was hungry and her feet hurt.

“He came into some money several years ago,” Nat said. 

“Ahhhh,” Darcy said. “Rich and pretty.”

“You think so?” Nat said.

“Don’t play innocent with me,” Darcy said, looking at Rumlow’s reflection in the glass of a store window. He was several feet away. “You know he’s handsome.” She scrunched her nose. “And she’s...striking.” Cynthia was a dramatic-looking redhead. She wore clothes well. Darcy didn’t know how Cynthia wasn’t freezing, except that Rumlow kept putting his arm around her.

“You’re quiet,” Nat said.

“It’s cold and they seem like a normal couple,” Darcy said. She was sort of lying. The cold made her muscles stiffer--cold and nervousness. And while Cynthia gave her a weird feeling, there was nothing she could pinpoint specifically. She watched as they went into another jewelry store. This time, Darcy noticed something odd: when he looked at the stone under a jewel loupe, the jeweler paused.

“An interesting stone,” he said. 

When they left, Darcy rolled over to the counter. She asked to look at a pair of silver earrings. “That was an interesting diamond,” she said. The man shook his head. “What?” she said, leaning forward. She had a trustworthy face, her mother always said. She smiled innocently at the jeweler.

“I believe it is stolen,” he said.

“Ohhhhh,” Darcy said. She needed to call Nat. “Really?” He nodded. 

“Very old diamond, possibly from the Art Deco period,” he said. He hesitated. “I cannot be certain, of course.”

“Ah,” Darcy said, pretending to know more than she did. Darcy bought the earrings. She was going to count them as a business expense. She texted Nat and then found Rumlow and Cynthia at another store, looking at more fancy shoes. Darcy gazed at them through the glass. He looked happy, she thought. Was Cynthia a thief? She was mediating on it when she realized Rumlow was looking at her. _Shit._ That was too conspicuous, she thought. She left them buying Ferragamo heels and met Natasha on a curb several blocks away. “You look cold,” Nat said.

“I’m okay,” Darcy insisted, as she sat in the car and Nat put her walker in the trunk. “Really. I’ve got a scarf and a hat!” Darcy said, glancing around. She did get colder than most people. The stroke had impacted her circulation. “What did your diamond friend say?” Darcy asked.

“Nothing yet,” Nat said. She looked at Darcy. “Do you want to go to Rumlow’s engagement party tomorrow?”

“Um, sure?” Darcy said. “You’re going out with Matt, right?”

“Yes,” Nat said. “He likes Russian food.”

“That’s what did it?” Darcy said, amused.

When she got home, Foggy was waiting. “Thank God,” he said.

“It’s eight-seventeen!” Darcy said.

“I worry about you,” he said. “I’ll be glad when this is over.”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said, unwrapping her scarf. She sat on the couch. Foggy sighed, then looked at her. Darcy listened to the click of the TV remote.

“Is she a criminal?” he asked.

“Ohhh, now you’re interested!” Darcy said.

“Well, I think I ought to know--”

“Possibly, she has a stolen diamond. It’s yellow, though,” Darcy said. 

“I don’t get it,” Foggy said.

“They’re not my favorite,” she told him. “Why would you steal that when padparadscha sapphires exist?”

“Darce,” Foggy sighed. They sat for a long moment. Foggy looked flummoxed. He put the remote down. “Do you want pizza, Nancy Drew?” he said. Darcy smiled.

“Sure,” she said brightly. “I could kill some breadsticks, too. I’ve been to a million shoe stores--I was really worried they’d catch on to my orthopedic shoes, but at least I could sit down.”

“What if this woman was really dangerous?” Foggy fretted.

“What are the odds?” Darcy said. He shook his head. 

“I don’t like it,” Foggy said. “Are you okay?”

“I need my Epsom salts and my foot spa,” Darcy admitted, looking critically at her legs. Her ankles were swollen. Foggy peered at her, frowning. She sighed. “I should have worn my braces.” She had lace-up ankle supports to help her alignment. “I played myself,” she said sadly.

“I’ll get the spa. If Jane hears you incurred injury, I’m throwing SHIELD under the bus,” Foggy said.

“Good plan! She hates SHIELD,” Darcy said.

“Why not art?” Foggy said, coming back carrying the home spa and a bag of salts.

“What?” Darcy said.

“You could do art,” he said. “As a hobby. Or knitting? Something safer.”

“Knitting’s not safer, I could trip with a needle,” Darcy joked. He snorted.

“I’ll fill this thing up,” Foggy said, going for water.

Still, something nagged at Darcy. After Foggy went to call his girlfriend in New York, she dug through the electronic records again a second time. Foggy found her frowning at her laptop as the spa bubbled away. “You’re still on this?” he said.

“How’s Marci?” she asked.

“She loves me, but she has a mo’ cases, mo’ problems thing happening,” he said. Marci was a lawyer, too. Unlike Matt and Foggy, Marci had joined a prestigious, cutthroat law firm, instead of setting up a small firm like Murdock & Nelson or doing voting rights work, like Foggy was now.

“That’s nice,” Darcy said, tapping her keys.

“Yeah, nobody ever paid her in chickens,” Foggy said. “I’m going to go watch that Michael Jordan thing--”

“Sure,” Darcy said absently. Her feet sloshed in the water.

“Nobody’s paying attention to me tonight,” Foggy said. “I’m a very good boyfriend and roommate, I want that noted.”

* * *

Darcy was at a coffee shop again, wearing her fanciest Target blouse and leggings, in preparation for crashing Rumlow’s engagement party with Nat. She had a bit of software scanning through all her Cynthia Smith stuff as she listened to Vance Joy and scrolled through news articles. She’d changed out her walker lights from pumpkin to a more wedding appropriate white, too. She was all prepped. She hummed along to the music, feeling happy. “Who sent you, sweetheart?” a voice said--and Darcy jumped and jerked her chin up so quickly that her laptop rocked under her fingers. 

“Oh,” she said. Brock Rumlow was sitting in the chair opposite hers. 

“You’re not an agent, you’re terrible at being aware of your surroundings,” he added, smirking. He was really cute this close up, she thought. Darcy gaped at him, torn between attraction and offense.

“I am--I am not,” she said.

“Sure you are,” he said, grinning. “So, who sent you?”

“Nobody,” Darcy lied.

“Uh-huh,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t make me be...more persuasive.”

“You would not,” Darcy said firmly.

“You wanna try me?” he said. She wasn’t certain if it was a threat or not. He seemed amused, not angry.

“She’s a friend of mine,” another voice said. Darcy turned. Natasha had just walked into the coffee shop. She smiled.

“You’re having me followed?” Rumlow said.

“I was actually checking on Cynthia,” Nat said. “Her diamond _is_ stolen.”

“Really?” Darcy said, interested. Rumlow looked at her and raised his eyebrows. “What? I liked Nancy Drew as a kid,” Darcy said. “Sue me.”

“I probably could,” he snarked.

“Definitively a stolen item. The diamond went missing during WWII,” Natasha said, ignoring them. “I have no idea how she obtained it--”

“People end up with all kinds of weird family shit,” Rumlow said defensively. But Darcy thought his eyes looked worried. 

“Of course--” Natasha began. 

“Stay out of my business, Romanoff,” Rumlow said bluntly. He stood up. To her surprise, he wagged a finger at Darcy. “And you, Nancy Drew--don’t you misbehave,” he said, sighing. His voice was softer. He looked at her walker and back at Darcy. “The world has bad people in it,” he said. “I don’t want to get a call that you’ve investigated your way into a hospital.” Darcy wondered why he wasn’t more angry; it surprised her so much, she was momentarily speechless. She watched him leave. He was walking out of the coffee shop when Darcy found her words. 

“Excuse me, I’m clearly Barbara Gordon!” she yelled. He frowned as the door shut.

“Well,” Nat said, “that was interesting.”

“At least he knows the diamond is shady,” Darcy said. “No party crashing, huh?”

“Probably not,” Nat said.

“And here I am in my good bra,” Darcy said, trying to squelch her disappointment with jokes. 

* * *

“No more Barbara Gordon,” she told Foggy on the phone. She’d gone home. 

“Good,” he said.

“It’s your job to be heroic now, Foghorn Leghorn,” she said. “Save the vote. I’m just going to do billing work piecemeal--”

“I approve of this plan,” Foggy said.

“Boooooo,” Darcy said. “It’s boring.”

“I wish Matt would do billing,” Foggy sighed.

“I know,” Darcy said. Foggy really did love them. 

“Being a parent is hard,” Foggy joked. Darcy laughed. 

She was lying on the couch when she realized the laptop was still running the scan. It beeped. _Bleep._ She ignored it. _Bleep. Bleep._ “Why are you upset?” Darcy said to her laptop. She peered at the screen. There was a big red block in the center, indicating a flagged record. “Holy shit,” she said, feeling stunned. She had to look at it twice. It was unbelievable. It didn’t make sense. But it was right there, in writing. She could put two and two together. She grabbed her phone, left a hurried message for Nat that she was going to Rumlow’s engagement party, and called an Uber.

* * *

“Stop the wedding! Stop the wedding!” Darcy yelled, steering her walker into the private party room. She half-stumbled as she hit an edge of carpet and had to steady herself when Wally jolted. Everyone stared at her. Rumlow’s mouth dropped open.

“What the fuck--?” he said.

“Brock!” an older woman scolded. Cynthia was staring at Darcy.

“You can’t marry her,” Darcy said. “She’s Sinthea Schmidt. Red Skull’s daughter!”

Everyone went silent. It was awkward. Darcy expected Sinthea to object, but the redhead had frozen. There were whispers among the guests. “She’s been stealing back all kinds of HYDRA stuff. I figured it out because the yellow diamond was seized in Vienna in nineteen thirty-nine. By Red Skull. He left it for his daughter in a safety deposit box in Switzerland, like you do when you’re a Nazi creep, only he wasn’t smart enough to recut it, so no one would know it was stolen--” Darcy rambled. She was half-guessing. She really hadn’t planned out this part. Rumlow had gone still, too. He turned to the woman on his arm.

“Red Skull, huh?” Rumlow said, voice cool. “That answers some of my questions.” Sinthea smiled at him.

“I did have fun,” Sinthea said casually. “Mostly spending your money.” Darcy was waiting for something to happen. The whole room went silent again, this time more ominously. People shifted. Darcy looked at Rumlow. He was staring at Sinthea. Out of the corner of her eye, Darcy saw one of the SHIELD agents reach for something in his coat. That was when Sinthea bolted. 

Darcy expected her to run. Darcy did _not_ expect the redhead to grab her arm and tug her along, however. She tried not to immediately fall. “Whoa,” Darcy said. A gun materialized from under Sinthea’s dress and landed too-near Darcy’s neck. “Shit,” she said. 

“I am going to walk away,” Sinthea said, attempting to walk backwards with Darcy. “And no one is going to stop me--”

“Um, I feel like there’s a flaw in your plan,” Darcy said, wobbling. Whenever she was nervous, she got less stable. And Sinthea had pulled her away from her walker. Darcy tried to stay upright, but she slid a little, trying to walk backwards. She didn’t _mean_ to elbow Sinthea in the stomach as she went down. “Ahhhhh!” she shrieked, certain she’d be shot. She landed with an oof--and about five SHIELD agents landed on a fleeing Sinthea, a foot behind Darcy. 

“Let me go!” Sinthea said, kicking one with her expensive heels. They were grabbing her gun. It hadn’t gone off.

“Ouch,” Darcy said, wincing, as she peered in that direction. That heel looked painful. She was still sprawled on the floor.

“Have you lost your mind?” Rumlow said, kneeling over her. Darcy was busy watching Sinthea get dragged out of the room and hadn’t realized Rumlow had dropped to his knees at her side. She looked at him in surprise.

“It’s not like I mean to fall down,” Darcy complained, trying to sit up. “I have a medical condition,” she added. He shook his head and brought her the walker back and then helped her to her feet. “Thank you,” Darcy said, leaning on the walker with one hand and checking for future bruises on her other elbow. To her surprise, he just stood there, looking at her.

“You want a drink?” Rumlow said. “I’ve got an entire case of prosecco for toasts that ain’t gonna happen now.”

“I’m sorry,” Darcy said, rolling the walker beside him to a table. 

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “I knew something was wrong.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, sitting down.

“This is my mother, Angela,” Rumlow said. It was the older woman who’d been horrified by his swearing. “Sorry, I’m not getting married, Ma. Evil eye again.” His voice was wry.

“The things that happen to you,” his mother said, throwing up her hands.

“I feel like this is really my fault,” Darcy said, when Rumlow went to get them prosecco. 

“Oh, honey, no,” Mrs. Rumlow said. She shook her head. “She thinks this is her fault,” she told her son, when Rumlow returned. “Tell her it’s not her fault.”

“Nah,” he said. “I have shitty luck. Barbara Gordon here was just saving the world--” Darcy snorted around her champagne. “She’s a friend of Romanoff’s,” he told his mother. 

“Oh,” Angela said. “His sister couldn’t be here. She had a work emergency.”

“It was an emergency called, _I hate the bride_ ,” Rumlow said. He looked at Darcy. She felt weirdly blushy all of a sudden. He smirked. “Do I get to know your name?” Rumlow asked.

“Darcy. Darcy Lewis,” Darcy said. 

They were talking when Foggy came into the room.“Darce!” he said, clearly alarmed. “Are you okay?” She’d left Foggy a note before she got in the Uber.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “We’re fine, she got arrested.”

“Oh thank God,” Foggy said. “Nothing happened?” 

“I was only kidnapped for about two feet and then I fell down,” Darcy admitted. 

“Darce, we’ve talked about your Oracle-based life plan.” He looked horrified. “The comic book character, not the computer program,” Foggy clarified. 

“This is your boyfriend?” Rumlow asked. Was it her imagination or did he look disappointed? His mother certainly did.

“Oh, no, I’m her roommate,” Foggy said, sitting down. “I don’t have the patience for--for all that. And I’m in a serious relationship with a successful professional woman with a full caseload.”

“Hey!” Darcy said. “Just because things _happen_ to me--”

“Hi, Foggy Nelson,” Foggy said to Mrs. Rumlow.

“Angela,” she said, then waved at a waiter. “Mother of the ex-groom.”

“Congratulations. Or not, as the case may be,” Foggy said. 

“You, too, huh?” Rumlow said. “Things happen to you?” Darcy realized he was asking her.

“Thor--” Darcy began, ticking off her fingers.

“What?” Rumlow said.

“Yup,” she said, nodding. “Normally, I’m Jane Foster’s assistant. So, first, there’s the whole poverty internship, Thor eats my Pop Tarts, and the big robot death ray happens, I rescue a puppy, then I go with Jane to London--” Rumlow was listening attentively. Emboldened, Darcy continued. “She disappears into a wormhole thingy for five hours and yells at me for freaking out, then goes off with Thor. Dumb Ian throws the keys into the wormhole, so we have to take the Tube home. Yadda yadda, pasty elves come through the wormhole and nobody listens to me when I’m like, _hello, the world is ending_.” She shook her head. “Ian was a terrible boyfriend. But it is the end of the world. There’s a whole battle at a college. During which a Dark Elf threw a car at me and I had a literal stroke,” she huffed. “Which brings me to Wally.” She patted the walker affectionately. “He’s the best.”

“She names things,” Foggy supplied, eating the canapé that Mrs Rumlow had snagged him. “We’ve decided it’s cute.”

“Anyhow, I’ve been through things,” Darcy said. It was a lot when she started listing it out.

“You, too, huh?” Rumlow said. Unsure of exactly what he meant, Darcy nodded politely. 

“A lot of stuff, really,” Darcy said. “Not just the stroke.”

“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Rumlow said, even more sympathetically. “A stroke?”

“Yes,” Darcy said. “I don’t remember much. Just _whoosh_ car and then hospital. Hello, socialized medicine. That was a positive. I’m okay emotionally--well, not entirely, but I’m better than two years ago now. I just fall down sometimes,” Darcy said. She tried to be factual but not self-pitying. “And I get tired easily. Also, I can’t reach the third shelf in the cabinet. But that was true before the stroke, I’m just not allowed to climb ladders now.” She sighed. Rumlow was watching her carefully. He ate a canapé.

“What I’m hearing you say is that you really need some TLC, sweetheart,” Rumlow said. He smirked. Darcy sputtered, uncertain if she should be insulted or charmed. Right now she was a little charmed. Jane would possibly be offended on her behalf. Oh well. She was trying to respond when Foggy cut in.

“Yes,” Foggy said. “It’s my legal opinion that she does need somebody to, uh--keep her out of trouble. And make sure she eats a vegetable sometimes.” Darcy glared at him.

“It was supposed to be you!” Darcy said.

“I had no idea it was such a full-time job,” Foggy said. “You’re a lot for such a small person.”

“Wha--?” Darcy said, incoherently offended.

“That’s true,” Rumlow said. “She’s very determined. She followed me around a mall with Wally here.”

“You saw me?” Darcy asked.

“You’re cute, I noticed,” he said. “Also, I was worried you’d get hypothermia. You looked cold.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, definitely charmed. “No, my feet just hurt.”

“And she doesn’t even really like outside all that much, so you’d think she wouldn’t get in so much trouble--” Foggy mused.

“There’s bugs outside,” Darcy muttered. “So what if I’m inside drinking hot cocoa in July?”

“I think you should stick with that,” Rumlow told her. Across the table, Rumlow’s mother was winking. “What, Ma?”

“Ask her to dinner, you idiot,” she said, shaking her head.

“You busy later?” Rumlow asked. “My schedule’s just opened up.”

“Not busy,” Darcy said, feeling herself grin. Rumlow grinned back. Foggy chuckled. She shot him a look. “And I eat vegetables! Yesterday, I had spinach,” she said.

“Tell the truth,” Foggy said. “What was the spinach in? Pasta?”

“No,” Darcy said.

“Hmm,” Foggy said.

“It was a quiche,” Darcy admitted. Rumlow filled up her glass.

“You’re carrying her to the car,” Foggy said.

“It’s true,” Darcy said. “I can drink or I can walk, but I can’t do both.”

“I don’t mind,” Rumlow said. He looked at Darcy quizzically. “Why’d you yell _stop the wedding?”_ he asked.

“She did?” Foggy said.

“It seemed like a fun idea. I just always wanted to do that,” Darcy said.

“She has a great sense of humor,” Angela said. 

* * *

“Are you sure you’re not too drunk?” Rumlow asked her, breaking the kiss. He’d carried her into her bedroom. Darcy scoffed.

“Just because a person’s a little wobbly, that doesn’t always mean they’re drunk,” she said. “That’s a stereotype.” She’d gotten lipstick all over his face. She grinned.

“I was more worried about consent issues,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m trying to have a fucking scruple here.”

“A fucking scruple,” Darcy repeated, giggling. 

“That seems drunk,” he said.

“Pffht,” she said. “You’re just funny. I’ve never heard a New Yorker say scruple.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. He set her gently on the bed, then looked at her bedroom. She had more twinkle lights threaded through her headboard, photos of Jane and Thor on the wall, and a collection of novelty plushes. 

“What?” Darcy said. He shook his head. “Fine, be like that,” she said, kissing him again. He looked at her when she pulled back. “Why do you like me, anyway?” she wondered, unbuttoning his shirt.

“We have a lot in common,” he said. 

“Sure,” she said, biting her lip in amusement. She got the last button and sighed. “Your abs are like a table.” She touched his stomach. 

“A table?” Rumlow said, making a face.

“So flat,” she said, mesmerized by his torso. “And just...wow.”

“Would you believe me”--he kissed her slowly-- “if I told you I used to be, oh, eighty, ninety percent burned?” he asked.

“There’s no need to lie to make me feel better about myself,” Darcy said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm riffing on the whole comics' Sinthea Schmidt/Crossbones romance. And Natasha and Matt Murdock.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Darcy woke up in an awkward position. She felt like her chest was being squished. She fumbled for her glasses, then realized the thing weighing her down was approximately half of a STRIKE commander. A very muscular, desirable STRIKE commander. Brock was lying face down in her boobs, snoring gently. He was practically perpendicular to her, with one arm thrown over her belly and his legs angled out. His toes dangled off the edge of the bed. It was the weirdest sleeping position Darcy had ever seen. She gazed at him for a long moment. He was nice to look at. But she needed to get out of bed. “Brock?” Darcy said. She tried to wiggle, but she was firmly pinned down. His bicep--wreathed in all kinds of interesting tattoos, she saw in daylight--was freaking heavy. There were strong, visible muscle grooves in his back. He wheezed again, turning his head. Darcy was fairly sure he was drooling on her chest. “Brock,” she said, reaching to rake her fingers through his hair. She tugged gently. He shifted then, blinking and lifting his chin to look at her. 

“Hey,” he said, voice low. He grinned. It was a naughty grin. There were crinkles around his eyes. Cute ones. “Whatcha doing, sweetheart?” he asked. 

“I need to get up,” she confessed. She had to pee. Not that she was telling him that.

“Mmm-hmm,” he said, gazing down at her boobs. His grin widened. He leaned down and planted a few noisy kisses. She laughed happily. 

“Cut it out,” Darcy said. She gave up on any pretense. “I have to pee,” she said. 

“Okay,” he said, rolling off her with a sigh. Darcy was conscious of him watching her as she got out of bed. She stumbled a little--being watched made her self-conscious and feeling self-conscious made her muscles stiffer. It was one reason that she hated anything involving public speaking; when she would nervously get up to speak and take her first step now, her legs wouldn’t cooperate. She was always afraid that she’d end up landing on her face in front of an audience of eminent scientists, so she got other people to introduce Jane. Knowing he was watching her was equally awkward. “You okay?” he asked, when she caught herself on Wally, parked by her bed.

“Don’t look at me, it makes me nervous!” she said.

“But you’re so cute,” he said. She heard him yawn sleepily. 

“Pffht,” Darcy said, leaving Wally in the middle of the bathroom. She was trying to pee quietly--impossible--when he asked her a question.

“You wanna go to dinner tonight?” Brock asked.

“Tonight?” Darcy said, surprised. Her hand paused above the toilet paper roll. There was a moment of silence.

“Maybe not tonight,” he said. “I probably have things to do.” He sounded more serious. “Tomorrow night?” Brock said. Darcy elbowed the bathroom door partially open as she washed her hands.

“You just got unengaged,” Darcy pointed out. “Don’t you have to cancel a caterer or something?" He’d rolled over and was facing the bathroom door now. He smiled at her a fraction. God, he was so pretty, she thought. She tamped down the fantasy of hopping back into bed with him. There was no way he was seriously interested in her. Not this soon after the Sinthea thing. 

“Nah. What is it?” he said, smiling. “You’re quiet.”

“I was just thinking about requisitioning you for the day, but I bet you’re busy,” Darcy said. She wasn’t lying, she was just choosing not to volunteer actual thoughts. “And I have to go by Stan’s--” she said, rolling the walker out of the bathroom.

“Who’s Stan?” he said, sitting up a little.

“My braces guy,” Darcy said. She’d been having pain when she wore her braces, just on the outside of her right foot.

“Yeah?” Brock said. He was grinning.

“What--I’ve got a braces guy,” Darcy said. “I like Stan. There’s nothing wrong with having a braces guy.”

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it,” he said. “Come back to bed for a minute?” His voice was coaxing. He patted the sheets. Darcy felt herself grin stupidly. 

“Okay, then,” she said. She climbed into bed and he pulled her close. 

“You can requisition me for, oh, about another hour,” Brock said. “How’s that sound?”

“Good,” Darcy said. She reached to take her glasses off and he stopped her. “What?”

“Leave ‘em on, I like them,” he told her. Darcy snorted.

“I bet you say that to all the girls who are almost qualified for half a seeing eye dog,” she joked. He laughed. 

* * *

“Ah, I see it,” Stan said, turning her foot, so the outside edge was facing him. “This is no big deal. You’ve just got a little build-up of dry skin happening, right there over the bone,” he explained, peering at her foot. “The outside of the last metatarsal is just building a little bit of protective tissue from contact with the brace. See, it’s just where the bone juts out.”

“That’s what it is?” Darcy said. She couldn’t see that outside part of her foot well without twisting her leg like a pretzel and had been forced to take blurry photos of it with her phone. And she’d made Foggy look at it. It was a white dot on her skin, smaller than a pencil eraser, halfway down the side of her foot’s edge. Tiny. It hurt like hell, though. 

“Just slough it right off,” Stan said. “I like mechanical erosion--get one of those pedicure egg things--more than chemical erosion, even though they sell liquids and things you can put on there. Should come right off.”

“But what is it?” Darcy said. 

“Technically, it’s a corn,” he said. “But you’re getting it because you roll that foot out more than the other one.”

“That’s what a corn is?” Darcy said, stunned. “That little spot?”

“Yeah,” Stan told her. “Also, your Chipmunks are here. I’ll get them.” He got up.

“Thank you--I really thought corns would be bigger!” Darcy called out. She slid her tall sock back on and double folded it so her ankle would have some cushion between her skin and the brace. Her braces--ankle-high plastic gauntlet AFOs encased in dark leather--laced up, so she could tighten and loosen them as needed. Glimpsed underneath her leggings, they looked like hiking boot fronts sticking out from her shoes. But they were much more comfortable than the knee high AFO braces she’d gotten from a different specialist, pre-Stan. Those were white plastic, sweaty, and noisy. She’d gotten skin irritation from how hot they were. And the _clink_ of the top section hitting the heel cup as she walked had made her sound like a cowboy in an old western. Foggy had started calling her “Tex.” She laced up her braces and slid her shoe on as Stan returned. 

“Here you are,” he said, passing her the new Chipmunks. They were shoe insoles. Blue and red.

“Same size, both feet?” she asked. 

“Uh-huh,” he said. “They’ll help correct how you roll your feet by lifting the outside edge. You can put them in your shoes, wear them around the house. But use the braces when you know you’ll be doing a lot of walking.”

“Because they provide greater ankle support,” Darcy repeated, nodding. Medical professionals liked it when you repeated their instructions back to them. It was a whole compliance thing. 

* * *

“I can’t believe that’s what a corn is,” Darcy said, as she attempted to stick a corn pad on the side of her foot that night. She was sitting on the couch. “It’s so small for something that hurts that much. Ahh, stay still, you bastard.” The pads were super tiny. There was a tiny dot of aspirin on one pad and another little band-aid thingy to go over that one. “I wonder if this will even work?” she said out loud. Google had explained that corns hurt because they made a little point or cone of dry tissue under the skin that pressed on nerves.

“It does seem underwhelming,” Foggy said, sipping his beer. Darcy managed to get her foot to the right angle so she could reach, huffing slightly.

“Ah ha!” she said. “I got it.” Foggy snorted. She stood up and rolled over to wash her hands, then returned to the couch with a sigh. Foggy had turned on CNN. She shook her head.

“What?”

“I have an old man skin condition,” Darcy said, grinning. 

“It’s not an old man skin condition,” Foggy said, setting the remote down. “You’ve just lived a hard life on the frontier, Tex. I told you to put your spurs away long ago.”

“Oh my God, shut up,” Darcy grumbled. She got her laptop off the coffee table and opened it.

“Rumlow coming over tonight?” Foggy said.

“No. Why?” she asked. Brock had texted her to say he had work. 

“I’m trying to mentally prepare myself for the sex noises,” Foggy said. “Last night was alarming. All the giggling---”

“Did I giggle that much?” Darcy said.

“No, I think that was him,” Foggy said. “The goat noises, those were you.” 

“Very funny,” she said.

“I'm hilarious,” he said.

Darcy was checking her email when her mail app dinged. It was a message from Fury. He wanted her to take another assignment. He needed her to go to an address tomorrow and follow someone in a car. He was even giving her a SHIELD loaner vehicle. She really hoped her foot would be more comfortable soon. Mostly because she was wildly curious about the job.

* * *

Darcy parked the new car outside the courthouse and called Fury. She’d picked up the car and followed his instructions. He answered on the first ring. “Lewis,” he said, “good to hear from you.”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said, “I'm in demand, huh?” She'd stopped for coffee and binoculars, too.

“You did a good job with the Schmidt case,” he said. “This job is even more important. I want you to follow a man leaving this building in approximately two minutes. Caucasian. Five-ten. Fairly nondescript. Brown hair, brown eyes. He has had contact with my employees and I want to make sure he isn't HYDRA or AIM.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. 

“He uses a cane, Lewis. I think he has a military background. He keeps losing my people. He can tell they're trained,” Fury said.

“Okay,” Darcy said again, intrigued. They hung up. She slurped her coffee and waited. People moved in and out of the courthouse. Her target must've been delayed. She waited fifteen minutes. Lawyers came and went. She got a little bored. Then she glanced up and realized that someone familiar was walking across the courthouse roof. Darcy picked up her phone with a little shriek, dialing quickly. “Matt!” she said into the receiver. “Why are you on the courthouse roof?”

“I'm being watched and followed,” Matt said.

“By me!” Darcy said. 

“What?” Matt said.

“Come get in the car. I'm parked at the corner. It's a Ford subcompact,” she said. “I need to call Fury.”

“Okay,” he said, sounding less argumentative than usual. Darcy jabbed at her phone and tried not to laugh. “Oh my God,” she whispered to herself. Fury answered and she spoke. “Are you having me follow Matt Murdock because of Natasha and how she's your favorite surrogate child?” Darcy said.

“She isn't--” Fury began.

“So, Clint’s your favorite?” Darcy said.

“No,” Fury said. He sighed. “Maybe I hired you for more...delicate reasons…” Darcy snorted.

“Matt is my roommate’s old law partner, legally blind, and mostly harmless--well, he won't hurt Nat,” she added. “How did you not know?” Fury sighed heavily.

“I usually ask Romanoff to do these jobs,” he admitted.

“But you could've asked Maria,” she pointed out.

“She doesn't think I should meddle,” he said. “Thinks I worry too much.”

“I'm billing you for giving Matt a ride back to his hotel--here he is,” Darcy said, as Matt emerged from the courthouse. “This is the funniest story.”

“Please don't tell Hank Pym,” Fury said. “Or Romanoff.”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. She heard a murmured thank you before he hung up. Matt opened the car door.

“Why are you the one following me?” he asked.

“SHIELD was worried about you getting in Nat’s pants,” Darcy said.

“Seriously?” Matt said. 

“Fury cares about her,” Darcy explained. “I think it’s sweet.”

“I guess so?” Matt said. 

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I was here helping Foggy on a pro bono thing,” Matt said. Darcy looked at him quizzically. There had been a shift in tone. Matt was actually not a great liar.

“Matt Murdock,” she said slowly. “What are you doing?” 

“Officially, he’s not working on anything outside of his voting rights stuff for The Free Elections Project. Unofficially, we might be doing another slum landlord case soon,” he said. 

“Oh.”

“Foggy’s been hearing things,” Matt said. 

“Dangerous things?” Darcy said.

“I think it’s fairly safe,” Matt said. “The corporation can’t threaten me if they don’t know I’m the one gathering plaintiffs for the lawsuit.”

“Can I help?” Darcy said.

“Actually,” Matt said. “Would you like to help me track down some documents?”

* * *

Three hours later, Darcy was surrounded by paperwork and horrified. “This--this is awful,” she said to Foggy. They were trying to gather documents for a bunch of renters who’d been fined by a corporation after it bought their apartment buildings--sometimes years after they’d moved out. The corporation had levied fines for allegedly broken leases and added interest fees. Somehow, it had gotten a judge to even garnish wages. She was looking at a deposition from a tenant who’d had three thousand dollars withdrawn from her account one day, virtually wiping her out. Darcy was trying to find the forms that proved the former tenant had permission to move out from the building’s old management. She was a single mom with a kid who worked as a teacher’s aide.

“Yep,” Foggy said. “Rich people are assholes.”

“One day, Marci’s going to be a rich person,” Matt pointed out.

“I wouldn’t call her easy going,” Foggy admitted.

“I can’t get over this,” Darcy said, tapping her keyboard. 

“People are evil, Darce. I keep telling you,” Foggy said.

“But how? How could you do this to a person?” Darcy repeated.

“She’s still processing out loud,” Matt said.

“I have _got_ to find this woman’s paperwork,” Darcy said. She was still repeating that when Rumlow called twenty minutes later. “Hi,” she said, holding the phone awkwardly.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m back in town. You free for dinner?”

“Who’s this?” Matt whispered to Foggy.

“SHIELD commando guy whose engagement she broke up the other day,” Foggy whispered back.

“I did not break up--nevermind,” Darcy said. She shook her head at them, then tucked the phone closer to her ear. “I’m kind of working on a thing,” she admitted. There was a list of impacted tenants on a yellow legal pad. It was three or four pages long. The idea of quitting for a date made her feel shitty.

“For Fury?” Brock asked.

“No,” Darcy said. “This is for a friend of my roommates?” Across the room, Matt and Foggy looked at each other significantly.

“Good,” Rumlow said. He paused. “What if I swing by and bring you food?”

“Okay,” Darcy said. “That’s a great idea.” She felt relieved.

“What are your feelings about pizza?” he asked.

“Any pizza can be a personal pizza if you believe in yourself?” Darcy offered. He laughed. They talked about pizza options for a few minutes.

“I’m gonna call in an order and bring it to you,” Rumlow said. When she hung up, Matt smiled gently. 

“All right,” he said. “We’re getting a beer. C’mon, Foggy. Show me that bar you like.”

“We have beer,” Foggy said.

“Not beer on tap,” Matt said. “It tastes different.”

“Only to you--” Foggy began, before Darcy interrupted.

“I think Matt is trying to give me some privacy,” Darcy said. “Thank you, Matt.”

“You’re welcome,” Matt said. 

* * *

“What are you doing, exactly?” Brock asked, surveying her stacks of paperwork on the coffee table. They were eating pizza on the couch. His expression was skeptical. 

“Mmmhpfh,” she said. Darcy had a slice of pizza in her mouth. She waved her hands, chewing. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ve been working on this for hours. I got so wrapped up, I didn’t eat. I’m _starving.”_ He grinned at her.

“That’s cute,” he said. “Tell me about this?”

“Okay,” Darcy said, “this is the thing. These poor people--literally, they’re working class people, mostly--have a new company buy their apartment building.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding.

“The new company does all these horrible, horrible things. They hike up all the late fees and make it more difficult to pay on time by requiring you to use, like, a specific store cash card instead of a money order, because the tenants are less likely to have bank accounts,” she said. “Or solid transportation. So they can whack you with a late fee and more late fees when you can’t pay the first late fee.”

“Shit,” Brock said.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. “But listen to this--the company starts going aggressively after people who left their leases early, years and years before they even bought the damn building. So, even though this woman”--Darcy picked up a sheet-- “got permission to break her lease from the previous complex owner three years ago, they managed to garnish thousands of dollars out of her account.” Darcy sat the page down again. “So, I’m trying to find her old forms and hopefully get her money back.” She sighed. “I can’t believe people can _do_ this. God, I hope we can find that form. If we can’t, I want to get her in front of the media. Maybe someone will donate some damn money--” She realized he was looking at her with an ambiguous expression. “Did I scare you with my feminist rant?” Darcy asked, pulling a face.

“Nope,” he said, slinging an arm around her and tucking her head against his shoulder. “I like that you care about things.”

“I can’t help it, I’m made of feelings,” Darcy said.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Feelings and potatoes, mostly,” she said.

“Oh,” he said.

“What?” she asked.

“I haven’t eaten a potato in years,” he said. She mock gasped and almost clutched her pizza crust to her chest.

“How do you _live?”_ she said.

“I might miss them,” he said, corners of his mouth turning up. “Potatoes.” He sounded wistful. 

“You’re eating pizza now,” she said.

“I’m trying to be a more chill guy,” he said. Brock looked down at her foot. “What happened there?” he asked. Darcy realized he’d seen the tiny medicated band-aid.

“I have an old man skin condition,” she said, starting to grin. 

“Really?” he said, looking amused.

“Stan says I have a corn,” she admitted. “Is that TMI?” He started to laugh again. “No? Okay,” Darcy said. “Some dudes would think that was icky.”

“It’s hilarious that you think that qualifies as a deal-breaker for me,” Brock said. He kissed the top of her head. “You want some help with these?” he said.

“The tenants?” she said, surprised.

“Sure. I might know my way around a laptop,” Brock said.

When a slightly less-than-sober Matt and Foggy stumbled in, Darcy and Brock were still working on the couch. She had been treated to several horrified rants, peppered with enthusiastic swearing. Brock’s New York accent got stronger when he was pissed off. “Hi,” Darcy said to them. “I have a hot assistant now, guys.”

“Huh,” Foggy said. Matt grinned. 

“That’s nice,” Matt said.

“He’s hot and smart,” Darcy said. “Look, he even has glasses.” She had discovered that Brock wore reading glasses. 

“I’m not just good at hitting bags,” Brock said. He looked at a set of notes. She thought he sounded a little proud.

“This is very true,” Darcy said. “He showed me a new way around firewalls!” She smiled brightly.

“Oh, no,” Foggy said. He looked at Matt. “She has an accomplice now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I am sad to say that the landlord-tenant stuff is based on real cases. Also, I'm using my real-life experience with AFOs (ankle foot orthosis) in this chapter. Leather gauntlet style ones look like this:
> 
> And plastic ones are like this--although they do fun, colorful designs for kids:


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Shhh,” Darcy said, “there’s a guy with super hearing crashing on the couch!” She and Brock were entangled on her bed. He’d done a cute whistle thing when she took her shirt off. Now, he grimaced.

“There’s guys with super hearing everywhere I go,” he complained. She kissed him. He was still complaining when she pulled back a fraction. “You’d think I could get privacy someplace. Especially with a beautiful woman,” he said. He grinned at her.

“I am very sorry, all you get is zero privacy and little me,” Darcy said. She was trying not to be wildly flattered by his behavior. He’d worked on the files with her for hours, not said a word about her enthusiastically unladylike consumption of pizza, and been very cute about all her physical issues. So far. She was realizing she was waiting for something--a crack, a slightly rude question, a sign of embarrassment--when he spoke again.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

“Nothing,” she lied, leaning in to kiss him again. He pulled back this time.

“You were definitely thinking about something,” Brock said. He tilted his head. “Tell me,” he said. His voice was calm, but firm. She found herself talking.

“Okay,” Darcy said. “Don’t be upset”--she pushed back a strand of his hair--”but sometimes, guys ask me rude questions and you haven’t done that, so I’m just pre-worrying about it, like you do.”

“Rude questions?” he said, studying her face.

“Like  _ what happened to you, can you not decorate the walker, it’s tacky, don’t you wish you weren’t disabled,  _ stuff like that. Or they make jokes about dating me for the good parking,” Darcy said. “Which is not unfunny, really, but it was the tone Ian used when he said it--you’re making a face now.”

“I’m thinking about how many murders I can get away with,” Brock said. “I could probably hide a few of them--”

“Are you offering to murder my exes?” Darcy said. When he nodded, she went on. “I don’t want that, but I did have this girl I went to high school with do the  _ what happened to you  _ in a really ugly voice in the middle of Target and I might still want her mildly threatened,” she admitted. He smiled at her.

“Done,” he said. Darcy sighed, trying to decide between breeziness and sincerity. She ran her fingers along his t-shirt collar. He was looking at her as if he could handle something heavier.

“A lot of the, um, discomfort comes from stuff like that being totally unpredictable. So, you’re not prepared, you’re just minding your own business and  _ wham _ , inappropriate questions from somebody you don’t know,” she said. He nodded again. “You don’t have your game face on and it’s awkward.”

“Just trying to buy groceries,” he said, voice serious. “And it comes at you. Or little kids, they, uh, say things.”

“Exactly!” Darcy said, happy he understood. “I wish I could handle it better, but you get it.” She leaned over to nuzzle him. “How’d you get so great?” she said. She realized he was looking at her thoughtfully.

“You’d be surprised how many years I was a smug asshole,” Brock said. 

“Not possible,” Darcy said. “I’ve seen how you dote on your mom, I know all your secrets,” she joked. “You were probably a softie all along.” 

“Uh-huh,” he said. “That’s me.” He smirked. “Let’s get the rest of these off, huh?” He looked down at her leggings. 

“Okay,” Darcy said happily. “Ah!” She giggled as he pried them over her ankles.

“Shit,” he said, when her foot flopped back down on the bed. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“Nope,” she said, giggling. “C’mere.” She made grabby hands at him. He laughed. Brock was fun, she realized. If she’d thought the post-engagement party night was a fluke, she was wrong. He seemed just as happy to be with her now. She startled to giggle as his tongue dipped into her bellybutton. “Oh my God,” she said.

“What, baby?” he said.

“This is maybe the best second date I’ve ever been on,” she admitted. He tilted his head and then blew a raspberry on her skin. “Ahhhhhh!” she shrieked.

“What happened to quiet?” Brock said.

* * *

“Hmmm,” Darcy said. She’d woken up to Brock watching her. “Hey,” she said. “Whatcha doing?”

“Looking at you,” Brock said. He grinned. “Wanna take a shower with me?”

“Sure,” Darcy said, hesitating.

“What?” he said.

“I’ll show you,” she said. She got out of bed carefully, using his hand for balance. “Thank you,” she said, as he stood and steadied her.

“No problem,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. They were holding hands when she pulled back the shower curtain. This was a test, she thought.

“Shower chair,” Darcy said, scrunching her nose. She kept the gray plastic chair in her shower all the time. It was a little bit clinical. The vibe was definitely geriatric, she thought. Darcy worried her lip as she looked at him, waiting for a reaction. Brock grinned.

“Can we have fun with that?” he asked. 

“I don’t know!” she said, surprise making her laugh.

“Let’s find out,” he said, turning on the water. He was very careful about her slipping. And he insisted on washing her hair.

“This is so nice,” Darcy said, sighing. 

“I, uh, didn’t realize the height of these things was so convenient,” Brock said. She was sitting down and he was standing in front of her, water sluicing over his body.

“Oh my God,” Darcy said. She was torn between laughter at the line and her own lustful thoughts. “C’mere,” she said, pulling him closer to plant a kiss on the v-shaped muscle at his hip. She was absolutely wrecked, she realized. Completely smitten with him. She kept kissing him, trailing her mouth over his body. The water had pushed her hair into her eyes, but Darcy heard Brock groan. 

* * *

Brock left after breakfast, dropping a kiss on her forehead as she was eating toast. “I’ve got a training exercise,” he said. 

“Bye, baby,” Darcy said, then felt silly. But his answering smile buoyed her up. He nodded at her roommate and his ex-law partner.

“Nelson and Murdock.”

“Goodbye, intimidating federal agent,” Foggy said.

“Have a nice day,” Matt said.

“I’ll call,” Brock said, looking at her again. She watched as he left.

“I think he means it,” Matt said, after the door shut.

“Did he sound honest?” Darcy wondered.

“Matt can hear lies,” Foggy said. “Of course, he’s never seen the man’s sneakier expressions—”

_ “Foggy.”  _ Matt’s expression was so put-upon, it made Darcy giggle. 

“Okay, fine, he does have a teensy smug face, but I think it’s cute,” she said, munching on her triangle of toast. “He can’t help being so handsome!”

“Sure, he doesn’t spend money on his hair or practice sexy faces in the mirror,” Foggy said.

“He does smell expensive,” Matt mused, drinking his coffee.

“He’s a fancy man,” Foggy said. “I wish you could see the duckface he did at Darce last night—”

“You two are ridiculous,” Darcy said, getting her laptop and putting it in her walker basket. She was planning on working from the couch today. She thought she might have luck finding some of her clients’ paperwork. 

* * *

“Gotcha!” Darcy said gleefully. She was talking to herself, but she didn’t care. Foggy had explained that lease agreements for their clients in the city were recorded with the Recorder of Deeds office in DC on Fourth Street. Which meant they should also be filed electronically. So far, she’d managed to track down twenty-three sets of potentially useful documents. She crossed those names off her list, emailed duplicate copies to Matt and Foggy, and moved to the northern Virginia suburbs. Brock had tacked a map up on the wall and helped her organize her client list. It was really nice, she thought. She looked at the time on her phone. He hadn’t called yet. What if she surprised him at lunch? Darcy wavered. He’d just ended an engagement, she reminded herself. “Slow down, Clingwrap,” she muttered to herself. “Just ‘cause he’s all cute, don’t lose your whole mind.” She decided to do a county’s worth of clients first. They had eighteen clients in Arlington county and thirty in Fairfax. She would start with Fairfax. He would probably call by then, she reasoned. It was kind of like a game--if she waited, he might call. That was the right thing. She got records for forty-eight people and then looked at the rest of her list. There was one small county that didn’t have their records online. She’d need to go in person, Darcy realized. She could do that now. It would probably help to go during the work day. She got up from the couch, put on her AFOs, and grabbed her messenger bag. As a precaution, she’d saved all her documents on a flashdrive. They had a safe that Foggy kept in her closet. It was partially hidden by winter coats. “In you go,” Darcy told the flashdrive as she put it in the safe, along with her notes and paperwork. Foggy and Matt had warned her about carrying physical copies of client lists, so she’d saved one in her documents files on her cloud drive.

Darcy was threading through DC traffic in her SHIELD rental when she realized someone was following her. It looked like an unmarked cop car. She made sure her doors were locked and called Foggy at a red light. “Hello-yello, roomie,” Foggy said casually.

“I think someone is following me. It’s a maroon sedan,” Darcy said quickly. “What should I do?”

“You’re sure?” Matt said. Darcy heard him take the phone from Foggy.

“No,” she admitted. “I could be totally paranoid.” She glanced back. It was two or three cars behind her. Impossible to see the driver.

“Where are you?” Matt asked. When she told him, he sighed. “Too far,” he said. “I think you should drive to SHIELD. It’s closer.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. 

“Call Rumlow, Darce,” Foggy said, taking over the phone.

“This is not helping me play hard to get,” she said, pretending to be fine. In reality, she was a little freaked out. “Maybe you guys should check the apartment,” Darcy advised. 

“Matt’s already going,” Foggy said.

“I used the safe,” Darcy said, glad she’d taken precautions. 

“It could be nothing,” Foggy said.

“It could be,” she admitted. After she ended the call, she headed for SHIELD. Darcy had no idea if Rumlow was even in the office. She called him at another stoplight. “Brock?” she said, when he answered.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m running field exercises--”

“I think someone’s following me,” Darcy said, putting him on speaker. “Sorry, I know it’s rude to interrupt, but marroon sedan, possibly a Ford. Foggy and Matt thought I should detour to SHIELD--”

“Shit,” Rumlow said. “I’m not a headquarters. Fuck. I’ll get the gateguard to let you in and have someone meet you, all right?”

“Okay,” Darcy said.

“Be careful,” Rumlow said, sounding worried. 

“I will,” she promised. They hung up and she made a right, headed for SHIELD’s rented facilities in an office complex. The car followed her almost to SHIELD’s gate before turning left. Darcy let out a breath, relieved. She rolled down her window at the gatehouse. “Darcy Lewis,” she said.

“Agent Carter’s meeting you out front,” the guard said.

_ “The _ Agent Carter?” Darcy said. She knew who Sharon Carter was by reputation. The guard nodded, smiling. “Whoa,” she said. She drove towards the main entrance. A blonde woman was standing along the curb.

Sharon Carter was nice, even though she seemed surprised when Darcy got Wally out of the backseat and clipped the basket to the front. The lights were blinking on the basket. “Do you need help with that?” she said.

“No, I got it,” Darcy said. “This is Wally. Did Brock not mention my walker?”

“Uh, no,” Sharon said. 

“Oh,” Darcy said. “And you weren’t at the engagement party.”

“I was in Palo Alto,” Sharon said. “Mission.” She adjusted her stride to match Darcy’s. “Rogue robots,” she added.

“Nifty,” Darcy said. “My people.”

“What?” Sharon said.

“I’m getting a medicine pump in a few weeks, which will, oops”--she’d hit an uneven bit of sidewalk and jolted Wally--“make me an actual cyborg. We’ve decided it’s cool,” Darcy said.

“Oh,” Sharon said. Darcy considered that she was probably making too much of an impression on Brock’s coworkers. Maybe she should steer the conversation to something safer?

“Sooooo,” Darcy said. “I heard from Thor who heard from Steve that your great-aunt Peggy slugged a guy who got fresh with her during Steve’s basic training?”

“That sounds...feasible,” Sharon said. “You can hang out in my office until Rumlow gets back.” 

“Okay,” Darcy said. People at SHIELD kept glancing at Wally as they made their way upstairs. Darcy smiled brightly and tried not to get secondhand depression from all the boring suits and fluorescents. Also, flashbacks to London. SHIELD had been crawling all over the hospital when she woke up. “Hi,” Darcy said cheerfully to the umpteenth man in a black suit who looked at her oddly. 

“Hello,” he said dubiously, as she, Sharon, and Wally clattered into the elevator. Darcy felt hella conspicuous. She felt even more visible in Sharon’s open-plan office. Agents milled in and out, chatted, and asked Sharon questions. 

“Is there a vending machine around here?” Darcy asked, feeling exactly like a kid hanging out at their parents’ office.

“Um, yeah,” Sharon said.

“I’ll show her,” a curly haired guy said. He’d brought Sharon some new fancy micro flashdrive that perked Darcy’s interest. There was something about him that gave her Q-from-James Bond vibes. “Cameron Klein,” he said, carefully shaking Darcy’s hand before they headed down the hallway.

“Darcy Lewis,” Darcy said. 

“Jane Foster’s assistant,” he said.

“Yep yep yep,” Darcy said.

“...Petrie?” Klein said.

“You remember  _ The Land Before Time?”  _ Darcy asked. “Oh em gee, that was like the tearjerker of my childhood.”

“I forgot how sad it was until I rewatched it with my cousin’s kids,” Klein said, nodding. “Big mistake.” He led Darcy to a breakroom and they split a bag of M&Ms and talked about movies. Darcy was laughing at one of his jokes when Rumlow appeared in the doorway and Cam looked startled. 

“I didn’t mean for you to lose her,” he was saying to Carter. “Sweetheart,” Brock said, spotting Darcy. His voice had gone warm. “There you are.”

“We were talking about movies and childhood trauma,” Darcy joked, as he embraced her. “Hi,” she said. She felt herself blush. He was practically nuzzling her in the break room, face in her hair.

“Huh?” Brock said, glancing at Cam. “Hello, Klein.” His voice was stiff, Darcy realized. He looked back at her. “Did the car follow you all the way here?” he asked. Darcy nodded.

“Someone followed you?” Cam said.

“Yes,” Darcy said to Cam, “but I couldn’t get a plate number--”

“It’s okay,” Brock said quickly. He was frowning.

“I could get a plate,” Cam said. He smiled nervously. “The street cameras.”

“Shit, I didn’t even think about the fucking cameras, I could’ve called it in,” Rumlow said. “Where’s my damn head at?”

“You’re emotionally compromised,” Sharon said. She grinned at Rumlow, then Darcy. “He can’t stop talking about you.”

“Oh, really?” Darcy said, scratching the hair at the back of his neck. He’d shot Carter a look. Darcy realized Cam looked surprised. She looked at the tech analyst. “Okay, Cam. Help me find out if someone’s following me or if I’m imagining things?” Darcy asked.

“Sure,” Cam said.

* * *

“You were being followed,” Sharon said, fifteen minutes later. They were reviewing the street camera footage. Cam’s work had drawn a small crowd of curious agents--including several people on Rumlow’s team. Darcy was sitting in his lap. He leaned around her to peer at the screen. Several of the agents looked at them weirdly, Darcy thought. It was probably how affectionate he was being, she reminded herself. He probably didn’t have people sit in his lap normally at work. 

“You got a plate yet?” Rumlow asked.

“No,” Cam said, fingers tapping the keyboard. “Damn it, if this angle were better--”

“We’ll get it,” Sharon said. Rumlow tightened his hold on Darcy’s waist as she leaned forward to get candy out of her walker basket.

“M&M?” Darcy offered one of the STRIKE Alpha agents. Her name was Agent Hernandez, Brock had said.

“Um, no thank you,” the woman said, looking at her in puzzlement. “Why would someone follow you?” Hernandez asked. In her peripheral vision, Rumlow turned his head. “Not to be rude,” she added hurriedly.

“Well…” Darcy said, considering whether she wanted to talk about Matt and Foggy’s cases.

“She’s a target because of Foster and Thor,” Rumlow said suddenly. His voice was blunt. “Or it could be someone Sinthea’s hired.”

“You think so?” Darcy said, surprised. “I was thinking Matt and Foggy’s thing--”

“Also, she’s worked her way into a landlord-tenant dispute,” Rumlow said, grinning.

“I think that’s the likeliest one,” Darcy said. “My roommate’s old law partner is working on a case. It’s maybe going to be a class action, so there’s lots of motive there.”

“Stealing me isn’t motive?” Rumlow said, voice teasing. 

“Well, maybe,” Darcy said. “But why would she follow me? Or have me followed? She could just, you know--” She waved her M&M.

“You know?” Cam said.

“Get somebody to shoot me?” Darcy offered. Hernandez seemed to wince slightly.

“Please don’t say these things to me,” Rumlow said.

“Technically, I said them to Cam,” Darcy sassed. “Besides, Sinthea didn’t seem all that attached to you, she was more into fleeing--”

“Uh-huh,” Rumlow said. He was grinning at her. He leaned forward and kissed her temple.

“She would steal your money, though,” Darcy said. 

“Did you want me to check your banking stuff, Commander?” Cam asked, voice serious.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Rumlow said. “Why are you wiggling?”

“I have to pee and you’re squeezing me,” Darcy confessed. He helped her stand up.

“Bathroom’s that way,” Hernandez said, gesturing. “I’ll walk you.”

“Appreciate it,” Rumlow told the agent.

“Thanks,” Darcy said. Hernandez glanced at her walker as she rolled out to the hall. 

“The lights are nice,” she told Darcy. Darcy had put purple string lights along the border of the basket.

“Thanks,” Darcy repeated. “I switch them out periodically. I used to have lights on the walker itself, but then you can’t fold it up easily, so this is plan B.”

“Oh,” Hernandez said. She looked like she wanted to ask something, so Darcy mentally prepared herself for awkward questions. To her surprise, Hernandez smiled nervously. “He, uh, really seems to like you,” she said. “Rumlow, I mean.”

“Ohhh,” Darcy said. “That’s, um, good to know?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Is it true you know Thor?”

“Oh, yeah,” Darcy said, relieved. “Remind me to show you a photo of him getting a mani-pedi,” she told the agent. When they got back, Brock and Cam were staring at the screen. “Do you have a plate number?” Darcy asked. Cam was typing rapidly. 

“Yes,” Sharon said.

“The car’s a rental. It was rented out to a shell company,” Rumlow explained. “Do you recognize this guy?” He tapped at Cam’s screen. A generic-looking guy’s photo stared back at Darcy.

“Nope, Petrie,” Darcy said. Cam grinned.

“What?” Rumlow said.

“It’s a cartoon thing,” Cam said. “We’re trying to track the shell company.” Darcy leaned forward over her walker to study the man’s photo.

“He doesn’t look at that scary,” she admitted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just keep adding little bits to this story, I have no idea what I'm doing


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Can I talk to you?” Brock said, frowning. Darcy glanced up at him. She’d been leaning over Cam’s shoulder as he discussed the ways that SHIELD could trace shell companies. It was interesting work. Mostly, they had to go by supposition--unless they had an informant. 

“Right now?” Darcy said, puzzled. She’d been enjoying Cam’s digression into the Panama Papers.

“Yeah,” Brock said. “I need a minute.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. She shrugged at Cam and followed Brock out of the analysts’ room and into a smaller room across the hall. It was a conference room. Brock held the door open, grimacing, as she rolled in. He shut the door with a click and a heavy sigh. “What’s up, buttercup?” Darcy said, plopping down in a chair.

“I’m going to ask you to do something you’re not gonna like,” Brock said. Darcy felt her eyebrows go up.

“Sexually?” she said. It had just slipped out. He tilted his head.

“This is serious, sweetheart,” Brock said. He put his hands on the conference table. “I want to move you and Foggy to a different place.” He tapped his fingers. slightly. It looked like a nervous gesture, she thought.

“Oh. Like a safe house?” Darcy said. 

“Yes. Don’t get upset--” he began.

“Okay,” Darcy said, puzzled. “How long would that take? I hope it’s not a two-story safehouse, that’s more difficult for me--” 

“You’re saying yes?” Brock said, looking surprised. 

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I thought you were convinced we were thugs?” he asked.

“Oh. Nope, that was Jane,” Darcy said. “It was Jane who slapped that guy. But you did take my ipod and I haven’t forgiven that yet. I lost some Joe Strummer!”

“Joe Strummer?” he said.

 _“Global A Go-Go,”_ she told him. “I love that album--why are you smiling?”

“I thought you’d fight me on this,” he said, grinning. “And I fucking love Joe Strummer.” He was beaming at her. 

“What?” Darcy said. 

“You wanna call Foggy and Matt?” he said. “We can get this stuff done tonight.”

“Sure,” Darcy said, still puzzled. “I’ll make a list. I always forget something crucial, like contact lens solution,” she told him. Brock seemed oddly happy.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.” 

  
  


* * *

“Shower chair, walker, wheelchair…” Darcy crossed off, as she and Foggy stood in the apartment. She looked at him. “What am I missing, Fogster?”

“You got your laptop?” he said. She nodded. “Glasses.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Toothpaste? Underwear?” he prompted. She nodded again.

“Brock already loaded them into the SUV,” Darcy told him. “And your file safe.”

“All anybody needs in life is wifi, clean teeth, and underwear,” he said. “And that last one’s really optional.”

“Very funny,” Darcy said, turning her walker around. She looked around the apartment. “I’m going to miss this place,” she admitted. “I bet the safe house toaster doesn’t have googly eyes.”

“I’m just happy you’re dating a guy with muscles,” Foggy said. “I think you should keep him”--Darcy rolled her eyes-- “at least until our next move.” They walked out of the apartment. Rumlow was standing there with the Australian guy he’d introduced them to when he moved Darcy’s wheelchair. Jack Rollins ran STRIKE Epilson now. “C’mon,” Foggy said in a low voice, “that file safe is heavy, Darce.”

“Ready to go?” Brock said, as she rolled up next to them. 

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “All ready.” 

“Nobody’s gonna follow us, right?” Foggy asked Rollins.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, mate,” Rollins said. He smiled. It was sort of terrifying, Darcy thought. His smile was vaguely menacing. 

“Okay,” Foggy said. “There’s something a little terrifying about you, but I’m gonna assume you aren’t taking me to a shallow grave--”

“Very funny, Nelson,” Brock said, lifting Darcy into the SUV. “Here you go, baby.”

“Mmmm,” she said, smiling at him.

“--because Darcy would be upset and that would probably cause a workplace conflict with Rumlow here, you know. Also, my friend Matt is kinda badass, I should mention that,” Foggy said, getting into the SUV. Rollins started to laugh. It was a startlingly high-pitched giggle.

“Does he always laugh like that?” Darcy whispered to Brock.

“He’s part dingo,” Brock said slyly.

“Oi,” Jack said, frowning as his laughter died. “That’s mean, mate.”

The safe house was actually an apartment in a building near the waterfront. “Incanto,” Foggy said, whistling. Rumlow and Rollins had dropped them off to go inside with key while they parked. “Fancy safe houses at SHIELD.”

“Jane would totally rant about this being misuse of government funds,” Darcy confided, as she rolled through the lobby. “I don’t think I’ve ever stayed in an apartment this nice.”

“Same, same,” Foggy said quietly as they got on the elevator. 

“There’s probably a gym,” Darcy said.

“Pffht,” Foggy said. “You can’t get a body like mine in a gym.”

“True,” she said, as they got off the elevator and found the right door. Foggy unlocked it and they went inside. The apartment was either new or newly renovated, Darcy realized. “Wow,” she said, looking at the bank of windows opposite the kitchen. All the furniture was sleek and modern. Even the cabinets were glossy white. “It looks like it’s been staged for a real estate listing, doesn’t it?” she asked Foggy.

“Uh, Darce?” Foggy said. He’d paused at a bookshelf with a few books and photos.

“Yeah?” Darcy said, wheeling into the kitchen. This place was swanky, she thought.

“Why does this staged apartment have a photo of Rumlow’s mother?” Foggy asked.

“Wh-what?” Darcy said, stunned. “You’re kidding?”

“Nope.” She turned the walker so quickly, she clipped the corner of the kitchen island. 

“Shit,” Darcy said. Foggy started to laugh. Darcy moved over to the bookshelf. “It is his mom! It’s his mom!” she said. She was so startled, she actually slipped on the edge of a rug in the living room and landed on her knees with an oof.

“Shit, you okay?” Foggy said. He was helping her up when Rollins and Brock walked in. Jack was pushing her wheelchair. “She slipped on the rug,” Foggy said apologetically.

“Do I need to move the rug?” Brock asked.

“I’m fine,” Darcy said, trying to maintain her dignity and failing slightly, “but this is not a safe house.”

“You told her this was a safe house?” Rollins said. Brock was frowning.

“It’s my place,” he said, shrugging. “Not a big deal.”

“Seriously?” Darcy said. “You live here?”

“You keep things really clean,” Foggy said. “We thought a real estate agent had staged it.” That made Rollins practically howl with laughter. 

* * *

“Why are you upset?” Brock asked her as they unpacked her things in his bedroom. 

“I’m not upset,” Darcy said. “I was just surprised, that’s all. This is a very nice apartment.” She had sort of forgotten Nat mentioning that he had family money. 

“Yeah, well,” Brock said. “I mostly just sleep here.” He opened the closet door to hang up her leggings. There was a woman’s sweater hanging there.

“Sinthea?” Darcy said archly.

“I, uh, forgot about those,” Brock said, rubbing his jaw sheepishly. “I was busy thinking about you.” He grinned. “You want ‘em?” Brock said. “I don’t think they fit me, sweetheart.”

“No,” Darcy said, giving in to the urge to giggle and plopping on the bed. 

“What?” Brock said.

“I forgot you were slumming with me and Foggy,” Darcy told him. “And I’m not sure they’d fit me, either.”

“Try it,” he said, tossing her the sweater.

“Oooh, cashmere,” Darcy said, unbuttoning her plaid shirt and then pulling the sweater over her head. “It’s a little snug,” she said, scrutinizing her chest. 

“Only in good places—” Brock began.

“Hey,” Foggy called from the living room, “if you’re done fighting in there, can we get pizza?”

“Yes!” Darcy yelled back. She grinned. “Foggy loves pizza,” she told Brock.

“We need to talk to him about security,” Brock said. She rolled out into the living room and he followed her. Brock picked up his phone.

“Are you wearing different clothes?” Foggy said.

“New shirt, old fiancée,” Darcy joked.

“Tag’s still on, love,” Jack said. She looked down. There was a fancy tag pinned to the sleeve. That made Darcy think. Brock was ordering pizza.

“What about Sinthea?” Darcy asked. “Does she still have a key?”

“Had the locks changed,” Brock said, moving the phone away from his ear. “What kind of pizza, Nelson?”

“Sausage—you’re not fighting?” Foggy asked.

“Nope,” Darcy said. She realized Jack had already moved the rug. “Awww, thank you, Jack.”

“I helped move the big ottoman,” Foggy said.

“Thank you, Fogs,” Darcy said. 

Jack stayed for dinner and told Darcy a variety of embarrassing stories about Brock injuring himself on missions. “Really?” Darcy said, in the middle of a story about Brock getting his parachute tangled in a tree.

“There were crosswinds we didn’t anticipate,” Brock said. “And I saved his life on that mission, too.”

“It sounds like he’s saved your life on all the missions,” Foggy said.

“He says so, but he ain’t right,” Jack said, snorting.

“I’m not right?” Brock said.

“You picked up a girl at your engagement party and she’s the woman your family likes most, mate,” Jack said.

“So?” Brock asked sharply.

“You did literally pick me up,” Darcy said lightly. “It’ll be interesting to tell people how we met.”

“Eh,” Brock said. “It’s a fun story. Don’t worry about it.” The doorbell rang. “That’ll be Dave. I’m asking him to do legwork for you.”

“What?” Darcy said, as Brock stood up.

“Run your errands, work on the case things,” Brock said. “He’s a SHIELD intern, wants to go to law school, this’ll be a good experience for him.”

“And he’s just agreeing to help?” Darcy said.

“How much does he want an hour?” Foggy asked, looking surprised.

“He’s Brock’s nephew,” Jack said.

“Ah, nepotism,” Foggy said, nodding. Brock returned to the table with a sweet-faced, curly-haired guy with a backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Hi,” he said.

“This is my nephew Dave,” Brock said, rubbing Dave’s shoulder affectionately. “Real smart, hard worker. He’s gonna help you with this tenant case--”

“Hi,” Darcy and Foggy said at once. Darcy smiled.

“It sounds like interesting work,” Dave said, looking a smidge embarrassed.

“I filled him in,” Brock said.

“I’m Darcy,” she told Dave, offering her hand. He shook it.

“I, uh, remember you from the engagement party,” Dave said.

“Isn’t that nice?” Foggy said archly. “Darce, you made an impression.”

“Shut up,” Darcy said, turning to glare at him. “Dave, you have my permission to eat all Foggy’s pizza.”

“Oh,” Dave said, blushing. “Great.” He cleared his throat. “And, uh, thank you for figuring out he was marrying the Nazi and stopping it.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said, shooting Foggy a smug look.

“He’s a sweet kid,” Brock said, ruffling Dave’s hair. “Sit down, we’ll talk about what kind of help they need,” he said to Dave. Jack slid him some pizza, looking amused.

* * *

“You okay?” Brock said to her as she got out of his tub that night. “You’re quiet.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said, holding onto Wally. “I was just wondering how many soaks I can get in this thing before you kick us out for getting your apartment all messy.” She tucked the towel around herself. 

“I’m not kicking you out,” he said mildly. He was leaning against the doorframe. He grinned. “But don’t worry about pajamas,” he said.

“I know what you’re doing, though,” Darcy said. He stepped into the bathroom.

“Yeah?” he said, putting his arms around her and steering her towards Wally. Darcy laughed. “What am I doing?”

“You’ve got Dave on this because you’re worried about me,” she told him. He rested his chin on her shoulder for a moment. “About me being able to physically handle being followed or threatened.”

“Maybe,” he admitted in a low voice. “You upset?”

“Nope,” Darcy said. That seemed to surprise him. “Come sit with me.” She sat on the bed. He sat next to her. Wally’s twinkle lights blinked. “I decided when I turned thirty-two that I would take help from people,” she said, fidgeting with her hands and smoothing down the towel. “I kept trying not to use things--I didn’t want to wear my AFOs or use Wally, I just wanted to be normal again. But it was exhausting. I had to work two or three times as hard, just to go into a store or get up on a sidewalk and I got hurt a lot. I realized I had started avoiding doing things, because I was too tired.”

“Yeah,” he said. She could tell he was listening to her.

“So I decided that I needed help,” she said. “Whether it was assistive stuff, like Wally, or just taking help from people, you know? Being too proud was actually hurting me.”

“Sure,” he said, leaning over to hug her and kiss the top of her head. 

“Wait, wait, I’ve got a larger point I’m working towards!” Darcy said, face against his neck. She wiggled deeper into the hug and put her arms around him. “Someone told me once that it was a very Western idea, that we do everything by ourselves, not as part of network of people helping each other out, anyway,” Darcy told him. “And that other cultures acknowledge how interlocked we all are.”

“Yeah?” he repeated.

“So, I guess what I’m saying is that I’m not mad you’re subbing in Dave on this one,” Darcy said, tilting her head up. “Or letting me stay in your very nice apartment so I don’t get murdered.” He was looking at her intently.

“Please don’t say _get murdered_ like that,” Brock said, sighing. 

“No?” 

“It’s not nice for my stress levels,” he told her. 

“Mmm-hmm,” she said, kissing the side of his jaw.

“They’re part of the community stress levels,” he said.

"Yes," Darcy said. "No more murder jokes."

"Thank you," he murmured.

“I’m apologizing in advance for your stress levels when Foggy starts working at your dining table with Chinese takeout strung everywhere,” Darcy said, pressing another kiss closer to his ear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incanto is a very nice building in DC: https://www.bozzuto.com/apartments/washington/dc/incanto/


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Hey, sweetheart,” Brock said, gently shaking her. “Darcy.”

“What?” Darcy said sharply. She hated being woken up. Didn’t like to talk to anyone before ten in the morning. She frowned, then realized who was hovering. “Brock? What time is it?” she asked, yawning.

“Five. I gotta go the gym,” he said.

“I didn’t know there was another five in the day,” she whispered. He grinned.

“I wanted to give you something before I go,” he said, slipping something over her wrist.

“Huh?” she said, squinting. He passed her glasses. “You got me a bracelet?”

“It’s a tracking bracelet,” Brock said. “You hit the back of the charm twice, it’ll send your location to me and 911, okay?”

“Oh,” Darcy said. The bracelet had a round charm. “Cool.”

“Just for safety, all right?” he said. “Don’t take it off.”

“I won’t,” Darcy said.

“You promise?” he said, expression serious.

“I don’t even want to take off these covers!” she said, laughing.

“Okay,” he said, kissing her gently. She raked her fingers through his hair and flicked some hair against his forehead. “I gotta go,” Brock said, sighing. It sounded like he didn’t want to, which delighted her.

“Boooo,” Darcy said.

“I’ll call,” he said.

“That’s what all men say after they give you a panic button,” Darcy joked, as he left the room. Brock laughed at her. When she got up to roll Wally to the door with him, Foggy looked up blearily from the pull out sofa.

“Why are we awake?” he said.

“We’re not awake, he’s awake,,” Darcy said. “Go back to sleep.”

“Only grandpas and murderers get up this early,” Foggy murmured. 

“I am old,” Brock admitted, grinning. But Foggy didn’t hear him. Darcy heard a light snore and covered her mouth with her hand to mask her giggles. Brock grinned at her. “I’m gone,” he said.

“Wally misses you already,” she told him. Once he’d left, she stumbled back to bed and slept soundly. Until the doorbell rang.

“Who is it?” Foggy asked, when she rolled, yawning, to the door.

“It’s Dave,” Darcy said. She opened the door. “Hi, Dave.” He looked young and fresh and energetic.

“What are we doing?” Dave asked.

“Sleeping!” Foggy yelled.

“We’re not morning people,” Darcy said.

“I can start coffee?” Dave offered.

“Frigga bless you,” Darcy said, patting him on the head. Dave blushed. “Please do that while I go pee.”

“Okay,” he said, clearly startled.

“She talks about peeing,” Foggy said. “Because she has zero body shame.”

“Zero body shame and the inability to hold it!” Darcy said. “The second one is more important.”

“Yeah,” Dave said, nodding and blushing.

“Brock got me a tracking bracelet,” Darcy said, as she rolled into the bathroom. She shut the door.

“Why didn’t I get a tracking bracelet?” she heard Foggy say, as she was washing her hands. “Does nobody love me?”

“I can get you one?” Dave offered. Darcy leaned out of the bathroom.

“Fogs, you’re deeply lovable,” Darcy said.

"Thank you," Foggy said.

* * *

“Okay, I think we should get all the client records in one place. Can you go to Warren County for me today? Maybe this afternoon?” Darcy asked Dave. She was sitting at Brock’s dining table with Dave and Foggy. 

“Of course,” Dave said. “Did you need more coffee?”

“Absolutely,” Darcy said, grinning. “Thank you.” She checked her Instagram idly. “Oh, Doug the Pug is getting ice cream.”

“Doug the pug?” Dave said.

“She loves dogs,” Foggy said to Dave. “And follows several major canine celebrities. Doug the pug, Cupcake the Pomeranian--who am I forgetting?”

“I sense you mocking me, but my social media doesn’t bring me down, thank you very much,” Darcy said archly. “It’s a positive space.”

“Why don’t you have a dog? A service dog, I mean?” Dave said. Darcy immediately shook her head.

“I can’t have a service dog,” Darcy said, sighing.

“I’m sure there are organizations who’d help you find one,” Dave began. Out of the corner of her eye, Darcy saw Foggy start to wave his arms.

“No,” Darcy said slowly, “I really _can’t_ have a service dog. It gives me anxiety. I’d worry about something happening to the dog and not being able to do anything to stop it.”

“What would happen?” Dave said, looking at her in puzzlement.

“Shit,” Foggy muttered under his breath. He’d heard this story before. Darcy exhaled.

“You really don’t want to know,” she said. Dave was still looking at her. “When I was in college,” Darcy said, “there was a really bad hit and run involving involving a local woman who was legally blind. A drunk driver hit her and her guide dog. The guide dog was killed. And the drunk driver just left her lying there, hurt and helpless, with her poor dog. He hid his car, the shitty dive bar where he’d been drinking covered for him and the bar owner was a complete asshole,” Darcy said, voice sharpening. “Which just makes me pissed off and heartbroken and just--” She shook her head. “People think of guide dogs as cutesy or useful tools, but I can’t do it. I know that makes me sound neurotic,” she finished. “Sorry.” Her tiny rant had made Dave look itchy.

“That’s not neurotic, Darce,” Foggy said in a calm voice. “Woody Allen characters are neurotic. You’re just mildly quirky.”

“Yeah,” Dave said sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just don’t ask me about guide dogs and, um, Mark Wahlberg?” Darcy joked, trying for breezy. 

“Mark Wahlberg?” Dave said.

“Extremely punchable face, said dumb things about 9/11, sometimes looks like he wears a hairpiece,” Darcy supplied.

“And wearing a hairpiece is a flaw?” Dave said.

“No, that’s just something that gives me a bitchy kind of satisfaction,” Darcy said. “Imagining he’s secretly bald and hiding it or something. I have no idea if he is or not.”

“Schadenfreude,” Foggy said. 

“That’s the one,” Darcy said, pointing.

“His brother is kinda bald,” Dave said, obviously thinking it out. They worked together on the client files for several hours, locating and copying all their evidence and documenting everything. Then Foggy got a phone call. 

“It’s work,” Foggy said, standing up to answer it.

“Where does he normally work?” Dave asked Darcy.

“A voting rights organization,” Darcy said. 

“Wow,” Dave said. “Neat.”

“It’s very cool,” Darcy said. “Foggy’s super cool.” On the phone, Foggy grinned and did a thumbs up.

“Thank you for that,” he said, as he hung up. “But I have to go into the office.”

“Booo,” Darcy joked. “Don’t leave us, Fogster!” 

“Sorry, Darce. Real job and all that,” Foggy said, sighing. He looked at Dave. “Enjoy your life now,” he said. “The legal profession is just prison with neckties.”

“His neckties are clip-ons,” Darcy cracked. Dave was trying not to laugh too much. Dave was polite, Darcy realized.

“Excuse me, I have one real tie for formal occasions,” Foggy said, picking up his briefcase. “Marci made me get it.”

“Just the one?” Dave said.

“We’re negotiating a second tie,” Foggy said, putting on his jacket. 

“Bye, Fogs,” Darcy said.

“I’ll walk him out,” Dave volunteered, hopping to his feet. He went with Foggy to the door and locked it behind the blonde attorney. “So,” Dave said, when he returned. “You want me to go to Warren County and get these records?” He reached for Darcy’s handwritten notes and client list.

“Yes,” Darcy said. She frowned. “Is my handwriting too serial killer?”

“It’s, uh, moderately difficult,” Dave admitted.

“Okay,” Darcy said, thinking. “What if I go with you and just stay in the car, but you can come ask me if you have a question?”

“I’m not sure if that’s what Brock had in mind,” Dave said.

“We just won’t tell him,” Darcy said. “It’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Dave said. He sounded doubtful. But the drive to Warren County was perfectly uneventful; Darcy had Dave drive so she could manage the radio and was able to discover that Dave was a major Lady Gaga fan.

“You were a Little Monster?” she said, delighted.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “She’s just--she makes me feel like I can be myself, you know?”

“Absolutely,” Darcy said. “Also, Telephone kicks ass. And so does Bad Romance and Alejandro and….am I just naming all the Lady Gaga songs?”

“Possibly, but I’m not judging,” Dave said, as Darcy cranked up Gaga’s Please Don’t Let Be Misunderstood.

“God, this is a great cover,” she said, sighing. Her phone dinged over the music and Darcy answered the call. “Sorry, this is my doctor’s office,” she said, turning the stereo down. “Hello?” Darcy asked. She listened as a nurse explained that a day had opened up in the hospital’s schedule for her pump trial. “Oh, okay,” she said, reaching for a physical sheet of paper. “This week? Wow, okay. Do I have pre-procedure instructions? No eating after midnight?” she repeated. “Okay.”

“Who was that?” Dave asked, when she hung up.

“My doctor’s office,” she said. “I’m having a baclofen pump put in soon. This is the trial for the pump---they inject the baclofen--it’s a medicine--into your spine once as a test to see if it works, then implant the pump, which is permanent,” she explained. 

“An injection in your spine?” he said, looking a little freaked out.

“It’s a spinal tap, Dave,” Darcy explained. “And I’m having one the day after tomorrow.”

“Holy shit,” Dave said.

“Yup,” Darcy said. 

“Are you okay?” Dave asked.

“Just a teensy bit freaked out,” she confessed. “But I’m going to call Foggy and tell him, because he’s supposed to be my hospital transportation--also, the next exit is our exit,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dave repeated. He turned on his signal as Darcy waited for Foggy to pick up.

“Hey-o,” Foggy said. “You find something interesting?”

“Nope,” Darcy said. “But the hospital called. My spinal tap’s been moved up. I’m fast-tracked for cyborg status.”

“Excellent,” Foggy said. Darcy glanced at Dave. He looked a teensy bit freaked out himself. 

“Spinal tap,” she repeated. Dave blanched.

“Huh?” Foggy said.

“Nothing, I’m just freaking out Dave,” Darcy said.

“Unfair,” Dave muttered.

“Spinal tapppppppp,” Darcy mock-growled.

“Do different accents,” Foggy said.

“Le tap du spinal?” Darcy offered.

“That isn’t even real French,” Dave groused. She and Foggy stayed on the phone as Dave parked the car near the Warren county courthouse. “I’m going to go in,” Dave said, putting the notes in his messenger bag. “I’ll be back--don’t say it,” he said, shutting the car door.

“I can’t let him get away with that,” Darcy said.

“No,” Foggy said, as she rolled down the car window. “Get him, Darce.”

“Spinal tap!” Darcy yelled out the window. Headed up the courthouse steps, Dave visibly shuddered. “I got him,” she said gleefully.

“You’re okay, though, right?” Foggy said.

“Totally, I’m cool, I’m cool. It’s only the risk of death and paralysis with spinal infection, no biggie,” she said. 

“Yeah,” Foggy said. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“I’m really stressed because they’re telling me I can’t wear my makeup for this,” she told him.

“Oh, no,” Foggy said.

“Double no,” Darcy said.

* * *

Darcy was tracking down that song from the Apple commercial--it turned out to be Roy Ayers’ Everybody Loves the Sunshine--when she saw Dave step out of the courthouse. She glanced back down for a moment, singing along with the music, then looked up sharply. Someone was walking towards Dave. For a second, Darcy didn’t know what had caught her eye. Until the man raised his gloved hand and she realized he was holding some sort of baton. Seeing the man, Dave scrambled backwards, but not quickly enough to avoid one blow to his face. “Fuck!” Darcy yelled. “Fuck!” Darcy did the first thing she could think of: she mashed her hand against the car horn with all her weight. Then she hit her panic button bracelet as she kept her elbow on the horn, eyes locked on the scene in front of her. _Tap-tap-tap._ She kept pressing. The guy was trying to take Dave’s messenger bag, but Dave had run up the courthouse steps, shouting. There was a brief scramble before her horn honking got people’s attention. A sheriff’s deputy came outside and the man ran away. Darcy managed to snap a few photos of his vehicle as he sped away. Once the vehicle had disappeared around a corner, she looked back towards the building. Still clinging to his messenger, Dave had sunk down on the courthouse steps. Darcy got out of the car and hurried towards him with Wally. “Holy shit, Dave!” she said.

“I saved the records,” Dave said. 

“You know her?” the deputy asked.

“She’s my uncle’s girlfriend,” Dave explained.

“I’ll get you ice or something,” Darcy said. She ended up having to settle for a cold Diet Coke can and was holding it to Dave’s temple when the ambulance and cops arrived. Brock got there as the EMT was checking Dave over. Darcy was talking to the EMT when she realized Brock looked pissed. She hadn’t seen him make that face before. But he didn’t go to Dave. He looked at her.

“What are you doing here?” Brock said to Darcy. “You’re supposed to be safe at my apartment!”

“I stayed in the car!” Darcy said, a little offended--and surprised. “And I probably saved him!” She pointed at Dave.

“That’s true,” Dave said, wincing as the EMT held ice to the contusion on his forehead. “She did save me.”

“How?” Brock said. He crossed his arms. “I thought you were in the car?”

“I honked the horn,” Darcy said, “obviously.” She leaned on Wally again. They were having a glare-off when the EMT told Dave he might need a CT scan. 

“I have to go to a hospital?” Dave said.

“Yes,” the EMT said.

“We’ll go with you,” Brock said.

“Yes,” Darcy said. 

It was a little tense as they sat in the hospital waiting room, but Darcy refused to acknowledge that anything was wrong. Instead, she read old issues of _People_ and listened to podcasts while Brock sighed audibly. “Will you at least tell me what happened?” he said finally.

“A tall guy wearing murder gloves and carrying a retractable baton hit Dave,” Darcy said. “I honked the horn, a deputy came out, and the guy ran. Here’s his car,” she added, showing Brock the photos. He took her phone and texted them to somebody, then passed back her phone. “I sent them to Cameron Klein already,” she said. “And Foggy and Matt.”

“That’s smart thinking,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said. They sat silently for a moment. He was looking at her, she could tell. She was studying the cover of _People_ like it was the Shroud of Turin.

“You weren’t supposed to leave my damn apartment,” he said grimly.

“Well, I did,” she said.

“What if you’d decided to go in and he’d gotten you?” Brock pointed out.

“That’s a hypothetical and a total cheat,” she said. “Also, you should be more worried about Dave.”

“I _am_ worried about Dave,” he said hotly. “This situation is escalating and I don’t fucking like it. First, you’re followed”---he ticked things off on his fingers-- “and then Dave’s attacked. How did they know you were here? What’s next? They’re obviously trying to get you to stop working on this.”

“They must’ve wanted the records,” Darcy realized. She looked at Brock. “The guy tried to take Dave’s bag. So, they must need them for some reason.”

“Yeah,” he said. 

“We need to figure out who this is,” she said. “So Dave can press charges.”

“Yeah,” he repeated. They both went quiet. Darcy studied the cover of her magazine. There was a story about Katy Perry in the top right corner. “I want you to stop working on this,” Brock said, startling her.

“What?” she said.

“Quit,” he said, voice clipped. “I know you care about this and it’s important, but it doesn’t have to be you. Let Foggy and Matt handle it.”

“Because they’re men?” Darcy said. “Or because they’re not disabled?”

“Because I’m dating you,” he said. Brock looked grim. 

“I fully intend to leave your apartment sometimes,” Darcy said. “You can’t expect me--” Her sentence was cut-off by the arrival of Dave, being pushed in a wheelchair. To Darcy’s immense relief, he looked fine. He was wearing his regular clothes.

“No brain swelling,” he said, doing a thumbs up. 

“Thank goodness,” Darcy said. Dave looked at Brock. His expression was worried.

“What are we going to tell Mom?” Dave asked.

“Shit,” Brock said. “That’s it. You’re both quitting.” Darcy didn’t want to argue in front of Dave--Dave looked like he was easily embarrassed--and anyway, she needed to marshal her facts more effectively with Brock, she was realizing. He wasn't an easily-guilted Foggy or a borderline reckless Matt Murdock. Also, they needed to monitor Dave’s alertness for the next twenty four hours, the doctor explained. "I'll wake you up," Brock told his nephew as they left the hospital. "And nobody's working on this stuff, all right?"

“Well, it’s not like Darcy’s going to do anything this week,” Dave said innocently, “she has her spinal tap.”

“Your _what?_ ” Brock said.

“I have a minor medical procedure the day after tomorrow,” Darcy said, as they went through the automatic doors and into the hospital parking lot.

“When were you going to tell me?” Brock said.

“I just found out today!” Darcy said. Dave was making a face as Brock pushed his chair.

“They called her on the way up here,” Dave said.

“There was a cancellation, so they moved me up in the schedule,” Darcy said.

“Uh-huh,” Brock said. He looked almost sulky. 

“Stop making Dave nervous,” Darcy said. “I’ve told you I’m having a pump put in. This is part of that. It’ll be fine. It’s just a small procedure.”

“She’s very calm about it,” Dave said.

“Medical procedures are kinda my jam,” Darcy joked.

“I’m not there yet,” Brock muttered, frowning. 

“Too soon?” Darcy said.

“Fuck yes,” he said. They were loading Wally and Dave into Darcy’s car when Brock circled the vehicle, looking critically at the wheel wells. “Here,” he said, reaching for something. He pulled out a small item. “Somebody bugged your car,” he said, expression unreadable behind his aviators.

“Holy shit,” Dave and Darcy said at once. 

* * *

“I’m taking the day off for your spinal tap,” Brock announced, when he came to bed that evening. 

“Okay,” Darcy said. “I’m glad.” She had taken a bath and decided to put her feet up. She was tired, not that she wanted to admit it. Brock--realizing her medicine pump installation would follow the spinal tap--had started asking more questions about what would happen and when. Darcy had described the process as casually as possible, but it was slightly difficult to downplay the part about the catheter being threaded from the pump in her abdominal wall to her spine. The medicine would then reduce the spastic hypertonia in her muscles. She hoped it all sounded more scary than it would be. She’d read a longterm Spanish study that said eighty percent of pump recipients had been very happy with their results. Next to her, Brock sighed. “What is it?” Darcy said.

“My sister wants me dead for endangering her kid,” he said, “but I think she’ll get over it. Eventually.”

“Is she very mad?” Darcy asked.

“She’s at a seven, but her scale goes to fifteen,” he said. He reached for his work tablet on the nightstand. “You gave all your files and notes to Foggy, right?” Brock asked.

“Yes,” Darcy said glumly. He’d been so clipped in front of Foggy that the attorney had volunteered to take them. “But it was mean of you to terrify him into asking for them,” she added.

“I didn’t terrify him,” Brock said, sounding stubborn.

“You made murder face. He never volunteers for more files, he’s an attorney!” Darcy said. Brock sighed again, this time in an aggrieved way. It was a distinct huff.

“Sweetheart,” he said in a soft voice. “You’ve got to start taking better care of yourself.” He looked at her unblinkingly. Darcy had to look away first. She sighed. It was irritating that he was so sincere. If he’d been sarcastic or insulting like some guys...but no. He was just being concerned. _Ugh,_ she thought. It was just unfair and wrong, the way he was all handsome and concerned.

“You think I don’t take care of myself?” Darcy said.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t do things,” Brock said, “but Nelson mentioned you’re overdue for some physical therapy--”

“Damn it, he ratted me out,” Darcy said bitterly. She raised her voice. “Traitor!” Brock tilted his head.

“You think he heard that?” Brock said. The bedroom door was shut.

“It made me feel better,” she grumbled. “Brock, I don’t want to do boring, responsible things. I want fun! I want exciteme--” she was saying, when he cut off her words with a kiss. She hadn’t expected it. Darcy wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning into the kiss. She was a little dazzled when he pulled back and stared at her.

“Exciting enough?” Brock said, voice low. “Or do I need to be less vanilla?”

“Yeah--no,” she said, shaking her head. “I love vanilla. Vanilla’s great.”

“Good,” he said, grinning at her. “Tell me more about that, huh?”

"I could have vanilla every single day for the rest of my---ahhh!" Darcy shrieked, when he tickled her.  
  


* * *

“You’re not going to feel anything once we go in with the first needle,” Darcy’s doctor told her. Dr. Rajani was a physical medicine and rehabilitation specialist. She would be the one who monitored and adjusted Darcy’s pump, once it was in. Darcy liked that she was reassuringly cheerful. 

“Okay,” Darcy said, nodding. She was lying on her stomach on a table in a sterilized room, as her physician and a radiologist hovered over her exposed back. They were using a large x-ray machine over the table to see her spine before they did the injections. She listened as they discussed where to inject. “She’s got a good spot right here,” Dr. Rajani said.

“You doing okay?” the radiologist asked, seeing her anxiety. Darcy had totally forgotten his name in her nervousness. 

“I’m afraid I’ll move,” she confessed. It was sometime after eleven in the morning. She had arrived at the hospital around six am and spent the morning having tests. Evaluations from a physical therapy team, an EKG of her heart, blood work, a whole gamut of tests--all without coffee. She hadn’t been able to eat or drink since midnight last night. But her nerves were jangling now. She needed to be still. Completely still. She’d never been good at completely still. She talked with her hands, she jumped, she _did_ things. Usually without meaning to.

“You’ll be fine,” her doctor said. “Easy peasy. That’s the word, right?”

“That’s the word,” the radiologist agreed. Darcy lay there, her face against a pillow, concentrating on not moving. _Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move,_ she repeated to herself. She felt a sharp sting and then pressure when the first needle went in, but managed not to jump. 

* * *

A very nice nurse rolled her back upstairs when it was over. She had to stay in a hospital bed, but the nurse warmed her up a blanket. Brock was waiting in her hospital room, looking alert. “I survived spinal tap,” Darcy said to Brock, feeling wildly relieved. She wondered where Foggy was. He’d been asleep in a chair when she’d been rolled away. 

“Now we have to monitor her to see if it works for the rest of the day,” the nurse said to Brock. “She needs to lie flat, because of the risk of spinal headaches, so don’t raise the bed more than twenty degrees. I’ll fix it,” the nurse explained. He looked alarmed, Darcy thought.

“Okay,” Brock said, nodding. 

“Once the baclofen starts to work, the PT team will be back to reevaluate her,” the nurse said. “And then the neurosurgeon may stop by.”

“Neurosurgeon,” Brock repeated, still nodding. She wondered if he was freaking out. 

“He’s the one putting the pump in,” Darcy said to Brock.

“Yes,” the nurse said. “The neurosurgeon puts the pump in and Dr. Rajani monitors it. Do you need anything, honey?” the nurse asked Darcy. 

“Can I get some coffee?” Darcy asked.

“Yes, you can,” the nurse said, smiling. She left the room.

“It wasn’t bad,” Darcy told Brock. “I spent more time dreading it, really.” 

“Yeah,” he said. 

“The nurse warmed up my blanket, that was really great,” she said, hoping he’d smile. But he just looked serious. He was totally freaking out, she decided. “Where’s Foggy?” she asked.

“His girlfriend called, so he went downstairs to talk to her. You feel okay?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” Darcy said. “Really. Just relieved.” He nodded. When the nurse returned with a tray of toast, juice, and coffee, Darcy brightened---and then frowned. 

“What is it?” Brock said.

“I don’t know how I’m going to drink coffee if I can’t sit up!” she said, torn between laughter and frustration.

“Use the straw,” Brock suggested. There was a straw for the foil-topped orange juice cup on the tray.

“You’re a genius and I adore you,” Darcy told him. She ate her toast lying down and sipped her coffee through a straw. She had to be very careful, but it was possible to hold a straw almost horizontally. Darcy grinned at him. "I freaking love coffee," she said. That got her his first smile of the day. She was having more lying down breakfast when Foggy returned.

"You're back," he said.

"I survived spinal tap!" Darcy said. "I'd high five you, but I have to lie down now."

"Low five!" Foggy said, tapping her outstretched palm. He sat down and looked at her. "How long do you have to stay like that?" he asked.

"Hours," Darcy said.

"A built in medical excuse for sleeping, that's great," Foggy said, "and you’ve got TV, that beats a coma.” Brock scoffed and got Darcy a napkin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, you don't really feel all that much during a spinal tap/baclofen trial test, but you do have to lie down for a few hours afterwards and it does make drinking coffee difficult. Here's your obligatory intrathecal (spinal) baclofen pump factsheet: https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/treatments/8997-intrathecal-baclofen-pump


End file.
